Ill Hopes
by ShNLo
Summary: Five golden tickets, one found after the other, and a young girl's dream, shattered. But can it be repieced when she sneaks into the factory?
1. Golden Tickets

Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.

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"But _Pa_," I urged, bouncing seventeen-times-per-second, "Willy Wonka is sending out a chance for random little girls and boys to go into his factory! Can't you spare even a _little_ bit for me to at least _try_?" Oy. That's me. I'm such a whiner. At least, that's my opinion of myself, which is odd, seeing as how most kids would say they're the least whiniest people they know. But then again, I've never exactly been the same as everybody else. In fact, I'm the least normal person I know – doesn't that sound so much like a cliché?

"No, Lisha! I told you, we don't have a lot of money to spend on the foolishnesses of… dare I say it, _chocolate_. There. The awful word is out of my mouth. Now, er… go find something else to do, sweetheart." My father rolled his eyes and shook his paper with an over-loud rattling noise, the kind of noise that clued me in to the usual 'that's-my-last-word-on-the-subject-now-go-away' attitude of my father's.

My name is Alisha Stantford. I'm tall, and gangly, and my hair is chocolate colored – isn't that ironic? My father hates chocolate, I long for chocolate – no, dare I say it (yet another cliché. Argh and double argh. A well used cliché by my father.), I _crave_ chocolate. Chocolate is a substance so sweet and decidedly addictive, and yet it's a substance that I rarely get once a year, if I'm lucky, and only in very small pieces – every once in a while, a small morsel slipped to me by my dear mother, who thinks my father's view on chocolate is slightly irrational, and yet still, she takes Pa's side most times on the issue of what it does to your teeth. Surely, even if I only got possibly even only one Wonka bar a year (Wonka bars being the apple of my eye, for ne'er have I loved anything more, except for my dear parents, whom I love to death, even if their stale views deny me many pleasures of life), I would not get tooth decay – I floss and brush my teeth every day, like a good child!

So why should I be denied the sweetness of chocolate? I have not an inkling, but enough of my wistful thinking – I'm sure you all have heard children's pleas for chocolate, however much they lack the money to get it. But just to add, we have plenty of money. So there, Pa.

My sigh of what I'd hoped to sound like denial, in hopes of moving my father's steadfast view on the issue of getting me at least _one_ Wonka bar, even _one_, for a chance to be one of the lucky ones – but alas. He simply grunted and rattled the paper harder, and I knew that that was as far as I could ever hope to get.

Shoving my hands angrily into the pockets of my dark blue jeans, I screwed up my face in what I assumed was a horrible expression – when I sulk, I sulk, and everybody in my house, around it, and visiting it know it. I gave a snort like a bull with an enormous pain and went tromping noisily up the stairs to my room. I refrained myself from slamming the door, however mad I was or could have been. My parents didn't take well to door-slamming, and that could further worsen the outcome of my argument. As it was, I was probably going to get lectured later for the stomping up the stairs.

I paced my room, using both hands to pull back my long, near-straight chocolate brown hair into a makeshift ponytail as I paced, my mind racing rapidly as it always seemed to do on these clear mornings. I was almost thankful of the open window, which blew a chilly breeze in along with bits and flakes of snow that flew in and melted. My thought processes cleared considerably, and I closed the window with a light snap, my hands resting gently upon the windowsill, not leaving it; I had no desire to pull away anymore, as I stared longingly down the street towards the amazing chocolate factory that even as I stared I was sure was at work preparing for the five lucky kids who were going to be entering that factory, and I counted myself out. No force in the world could now get my father to change his mind.

I watched, almost as if I was having an out-of-body-experience, as people flooded around the electronics store on the corner of Cherry and Maple, near our house, where Willy Wonka used to keep his first shop. Mr. Hornbe took over and turned it into an electronics store, and I watched as people flooded around the multiple television screens in the window. I managed to catch a glimpse of the channel, and flipped my own ancient black-and-white TV on to that channel to catch the news.

My first thought of the repulsive, chocolate-faced fat child standing in front of the news reporters munching chocolate so gaily was to gag. My second thought was loathing, pure loathing. Especially when his mother launched into a speech about how Augustus Gloop (what a funny name, don't you think?) ate so many candy bars a day that it was impossible for him _not_ to find a Golden Ticket. As I eased myself down onto my bed, I sighed deeply.

Glumly I placed my chin into the palms of both hands and rested my elbows on my knees. Finally my troubled mind rested on sadness. Here was a child who got as much chocolate as he wanted during the year, and here 'twas I, barely getting more than a chocolate chip on a rare occasion. I glared at the TV screen before finally getting so unbearably angry that I switched off the set with such force that I nearly ripped the knob from the surface.

I stared at the ancient set and blinked, then reached out a thin and spidery hand (people think I'm undernourished. It's not that I don't get enough food, it's just that I never seem to gain any weight, don't you see) and tried turning the knob. It clicked as it usually did, but the TV didn't turn on. I clicked it off, waited a few minutes that seemed to bring out an annoying throbbing in my temples, then tried it again. When it didn't work, I gave a silly little low-pitched giggle that, if I would have known it at the time, most likely would have made Willy Wonka proud.

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Some minutes… some hours? I don't know, I lost track of the time after the TV broke. I simply sat on my bed for what seemed like an eternity and didn't move an inch, aside from breathing and blinking when necessary.

Anyhow, some period of time that I never kept track of after leaving my bedroom I found myself glued to the spot just outside the enormous Chocolate Factory, the object of my longing, the place I so desperately wanted to enter but was denied; and, ne'er would I admit to anyone, I desperately wanted to look at Mr. Wonka himself. I had never seen him in the flesh, you see, never had the chance to take in what was certain to be the wonderful features of the man who made such dazzling candies and treats.

I sighed. My father's unwillingness to buy me even _one_ Wonka bar, perhaps _one_ would even get me inside the fabulous factory of my dreams! But of course, I never would. No one but those lucky kids would, those five lucky kids that I most certainly would not be one of; perhaps – and this thought lifts my mind most pleasantly – perhaps one of the lucky kids will be from this very town, perhaps even a child that I know and am accustomed to? One that could describe to me the wonderful fantasies of that amazing place?

But of course, I should never allow my hopes to rise, for the chances of something so far fetched as what I just explained to you, dear listener, were very, very slim. So slim, in fact, that I resigned myself to brooding and trudged through the heavy snow towards the corner of Cherry and Maple.

The onslaught of people racing to purchase Wonka bars of all kinds and wrapper-hues caused me to be swept, rather than ushered, towards Cherry and Maple; for directly next to Hornbe's Electric Electronics (as the store was so funnily named) was a Wonka candy bar supplier.

I was kindly deposited at the end of the rush into a rather large and forbidding snowdrift. I sat up, spitting ice and wiping my face clean of the chilly, light frozen crystals that iced my face, like delicate icing on a pale cake. I shook my head violently like a dog's to rid my hair of most of the snow, then crawled out of the snowdrift, thankful for my warm coat. As I stood up on the sidewalk, just off to the side of the _still_ ever persistent traffic rush, I shook my whole self as hard as I could, out of spite and just to clear myself of snow. A woman paused for a second, looking outraged.

"You got me all snowy!" she screeched, outraged, then leapt into the crowd like a salmon attempting to head upstream against a strong current or possibly a waterfall. Yes, she did look ridiculous, and I had to laugh, so glad that I wasn't caught up in all that. I burrowed my hands into my coat pockets at my side to warm them up, the tips of my fingers numb from all the snow-contact they had received.

I turned my attention to the television sets in the window of Electric Electronics and watched dejectedly as it showed another Golden Ticket winner, a spoilt little girl who apparently got everything she ever wanted. I kicked at the snow in front of me, watching Veruca Salt and her father and mother stand and smile broadly at the news reporters.

"When my little girl said she had to have one of the Golden Tickets, I started laying my hands on every Wonka bar I could get," he boldly stated, his face smug. After that bit I basically lost interest and kicked at the snow again, my eyes focusing on something on the ground. Hmm. I bent over and picked it up, and was delighted to find a coin of enough value to possibly buy a Wonka bar!

As I was about to consider the options of where I might get into the crowd at a break, a couple went past me that I recognized instantaneously.

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Bucket!" I exclaimed jubilantly, clutching the coin steadfast in my cut-off-fingertip-gloves.

Mrs. Bucket gave a startled yelp at being addressed so suddenly; Mr. Bucket had to steady her to keep her from falling over, but darn near fell over himself. "O-oh, hi Alisha," Mrs. Bucket stuttered, flapping her hands at her husband to let him know she was fine and dandy. "You startled me for a minute there."

I grinned and shrugged. "Sorry, Mrs. Bucket. How's Charlie?" I was fairly well acquainted with the Buckets' son, Charlie, as he went to my school and was in my class. Most ignored him, and it's partially my fault that I never paid much attention to him, either. I was the hardworking student, what most called 'Teacher's Pet', and was usually busy with my nose stuck to the grindstone, so to speak.

"He's fine, dear. It's his birthday tomorrow, and, well, we've been doing a bit of… birthday shopping." They held up a little package. I nodded.

"Tell Charlie Happy Birthday for me!" I said, and they both answered with a timely "We will", even though my request was farthest from their minds. I could tell. I'd simply have to wish Charlie a happy birthday to-morrow when I next saw him, if I did. As it was, he kept to himself mostly, especially in school. The bullies ne'er left him alone if he didn't. And I always feel awful for ne'er having the time to help him out.

Long after they had gone, I still stood and stared at the ne'er ending line of ongoing traffic of people in the mad rush to buy Wonka bars. A thought crossed my mind, unbidden and unwelcome; _What if there are no more Wonka bars when it's your turn?_ the voice in my head taunts, _What if they're all out? Then what?_ To which I steely reply, thinking myself near the brink of insanity to be arguing with mineself; _Then I'll just wait until they stock Wonka bars again._ _And what if they_ – The voice attempted to intrude again, but I simply shoved it with a willing force of mental power. _Shut up_.

I saw a break in the line and dived for it, but was instantly knocked back into the snowdrift from whence I had come so many hours before. It didn't seem much like hours, but I was sure it had been. I lifted up that had once clutched so dearly the coin I had luckily come by, such as a dragon would clutch dearly at it's beloved hoard of stolen treasure and ill-gotten wealth.

It wasn't there. I couldn't believe it. I'd lost it! Those stupid – those idiotic – they made me drop my coin! Now all my hopes were definitely smashed, smashed and dashed like crashing forceful waves against a sea rock. I picked myself up soberly and marched myself home, tired and cold and wet from being outside so long.

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The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I watched the unveiling of the third and fourth Golden Tickets, and by bedtime word had been spread of the last Golden Ticket found in Russia. I had to marvel at how fast the tickets were found, but then again – the human race could be very determined when they set their minds to it.

Resignedly I trudged up the stairs and cuddled down deep into the warmth of my blankets, ready for a good night's sleep. Ne'er had I dreamed that the fifth ticket found in Russia was truly a fake, and that little Charlie Bucket would get his lucky chance the very next day.

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A/N: Gah, don't kill me! It's an impulse story. Maybe it'll get off the ground, maybe it won't, but I was fairly pleased with the first chap. It's the longest chapter I've ever done on ANY of my stories, and I'm quite proud of it. Especially seeing as how I typed it all up in about an hour. Interesting, when my mind gets to work. Anyway, I know most of you reading this will know my other work-in-progress, Whisper of Evil, and yes, I'm still working on that – but I'm delaying chap. section updates to every other day or so. This will be the _other_ every other day, if you get my drift. Hehe. This story is modeled after me, but of course, the names are fictitious and the setting isn't my actual setting… it's just the way I like to think and act. So yeah.

Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.


	2. Sneaking In

Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.

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A soft, slight sigh was the only noise I would allow myself to make, administering the fact that _yes_, I _was_ awake. Fully awake, in fact, but not motivated enough to move from my current spot. My night had been filled with restlessness, my mind turning over and over the five children; Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Violet Beauregarde, Mike Teavee, and of course, that last lucky child in Russia whose name I failed to catch.

They were all lucky. I wasn't. They were all going to see that amazing factory. I wasn't. They weren't full of self pity. I was. I rolled over on my side and stared at my clock. 9:00 AM. I sighed even more deeply. It was truly going to be a _long_ day, the last day of January, and to-morrow on February first Willy Wonka's factory gates were going to open and admit those ten people.

I rolled over the other way and faced the wall. I laid there and stared at it for some time before finally, explosively, shoving the covers off my skinny frame and changing out of my nightclothes and into my regular clothes. I couldn't stand to lay in bed any longer. I had to get out, get out of this depressing house and somewhere that could possibly take my mind off of all that happened in… what, was it only a day? It seemed to me that I had aged a week, but barely more than twenty-four hours had gone by.

I slipped the coat over my arms and zipped it up. _Ziiiiiiip_. I giggled again, for absolutely no reason at all; and the giggle sounded so horrendous in my mind that I unintentionally clapped a hand over my mouth. The spot where my hand had struck stung for almost a minute before it went away, and when it did, I quickly hurried out my room, down the stairs, and blasted out the door before anybody could tell me to stop.

Once outside in the chilly January, soon to be February air, I jogged on the spot for a few seconds to warm up a bit, get my blood pumping, then set off at a brisk walk for the newsstand. If nothing else I could catch a glimpse of the headlines. Every once in a while the newsstand runner would give me a paper. How nice of him, yes?

As I approached the newsstand, I noticed, with some amusement, that Mr. Jenkins was being swamped by people in their efforts to get a newspaper. Managing to slide between people and in beside Mr. Jenkins, I grinned heartily and giggled that strange giggle again. Where did it come from, I had no idea, for I had never heard that giggle before in my life. "Hi Mr. Jenkins. Looks like you need a hand, eh?"

"Hi Alisha. Yeah, it sure –" he paused a second to hand a paper to a person over the heads of some others, "- is a busy time. Would you mind helping a bit?" He paused from everything for a moment to watch me, to many indignant cries.

"Sure." I picked up a stack of the newspapers, as big as I could fit them in my arms, and slipped out of the crowd again, to stand a slight distance away. It worked. It drew part of the crowd over to me, and Mr. Jenkins had time to hand people papers. I managed to hold the stack with one arm with people deposited money into my other arm's hand. After business slowed again, I found I only had one paper left.

Mr. Jenkins swept his brow over with his sleeve. "It's cold as blazes out and I'm sweating. Ain't that something?"

"Sure is." I deposited my handful of coins into Mr. Jenkins' hand and then held the last singular paper out to him. He looked at it, took it, then pushed it back to me.

"You have it. I know how much you enjoy to read the paper. By the way, you might be interested in the main headline," he said with a wink, and I grinned and nodded.

"Thanks!" I said as politely as possible, then walked down to the corner where I could get some peace without somebody hanging over my shoulder to try and read my paper at the same time as I was.

**RUSSIAN TICKET FAKE**, proclaimed the bold front headline, showing a picture of the kid who had made a false ticket. My heart leapt into my throat. That meant there was still one left! I was about to read deeper into the story when a child went zooming by me, whirling my coat and hair in the same direction he was going. A glint of gold in his hand caused my heart to almost die on me. Especially since I recognized the lucky kid who had found the last Golden Ticket.

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The last day of January proceeded without much heed by myself. I hardly noticed it, in fact, for my mind was reeling over the idea of Charlie Bucket finding the last Golden Ticket. The first day of February dawned crisp and clear, as did my plans for the day, which no one would suspect. At Seven o'clock in the morning I was up and ready for the day, three hours earlier than the gates were scheduled to open.

Of course, I would need to get there first, for my plans to be able to be set into motion; and thus I began searching my room for the thing I needed, for I only needed one object; my piece of rope, fifteen-feet long, wove from nylon, strong and thick, perfect for the job at hand. I slung it over my shoulder. It roughly rubbed up against my skin, for I was in no more than a tank-top. And I would only be able to go out in a tank-top. I wouldn't be able to shed my coat outside now, would I? It would raise questions. And I was sure to be discovered if I shed it inside.

I slipped nimbly and stealthily downstairs, my shoes making even the merest whisper of sound down the staircase. My parents were still in bed, snoring as they often did, and I thanked the Good Lord that I didn't have a sibling, for they would surely ruin my escape.

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My teeth were gritted hard against the cold to keep them from chattering, as I tied my rope around a rock. It was a pretty big rock, but not so big that I couldn't pick it up enough to heave it fairly high over my head. And as I said, I was pretty tall myself, around 5' 5". I stared upwards at the spikes overtop the factory gates, wondering if I could heave the rock that high.

I decidedly decided that I would have to figure out. I lifted the rock with a low groan and heaved it over the top. It was further decided that I _could_ heave the rock that high. I giggled, that strange, throaty giggle that I seemed to be using a lot lately. I shuddered, not just from the cold but from the insanity I was sure I was nearing.

I began to use the rope to scale the gates, still thankful that the press and everybody else from town would not be here until nine, which was another hour. I was halfway up the gate when I lost my footing and slid back down to the bottom, landing flat on my back in the snow with a tremendous _thump_.

"Owwww," I whimpered in a whisper, gently easing myself off the ground and tackling the fence again. I was still hurting, but I wasn't stupid; things like laying until you feel better will get you caught, not to mention possibly giving me a cold.

I managed to make it to the top and clung to the spikes at the top for all that I was worth. Finally I hauled myself up, with some effort, and was careful about climbing around. After all, I don't think the person who found me in another half-hour would think their day lucky to find a kid impaled through the bottom or middle on one of the Chocolate Factory's metal gate spikes.

I shuddered at that thought as I slid down the gate on the other side, picked up the rock and rope, and carried them off to a remote corner of the giant stone fence; there, no one would surely discover them until some days, months, or years later. There was a nook in the stone not too far from the gates and I snuggled tight into it, fairly warm for the time being.

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I knew it was almost time to get ready to enter when there were cheers and clicks and snaps and flashes from the canons and people around. The gates creaking open eerily confirmed my assumption and I poked my head out ever-so-slightly to watch them enter. I grinned widely when I saw Charlie and his grandfather, Joe, who looked fit as a whistle for how old he was.

Still gritting my teeth as hard as I possibly could to keep them from chattering, for I was sure that would give me away, I listened in wonderment to Willy Wonka's voice (and by now I was sure it was. I was just sure!) gave the commands for them to come forward.

"Welcome to my Facotry," Willy Wonka announced grandly, "Who am I? Well…"

I watched in awe and was dumbfounded as the what appeared to be doors opened wide and a bright red curtain with gold sash and embellishment bore the fanciful Wonka 'W' split to reveal a bunch of musical dolls that all started chuckling insanely and then singing about the owner of the Chocolate Factory.

♪_Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, The Amazing Chocolatier_

_Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, Everybody give a cheer –HOO-RAY!-_

_He's modest clever and so smart, he barely can restrain it_

_With so much generosity, there is nowhere to contain it,_

_To contain it, to contain _

_To contain to contaaaaain_ ♪

I could barely suppress that awful giggle that bubbled into my throat like I was to be sick. But it bubbled out anyway, and soon I had to clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing horrendously and alerting everyone to my presence. I almost didn't hold it back, especially when a man appeared suddenly at the end of the line of people giggling and clapping madly.

"Splendid! Wasn't that just wonderful? Splendid! I thought it was getting a bit dodgy there in the middle part, but then that finale… _Wow!_" The man leapt to the top of the staircase in front of the people, and for a fleeting second he looked in my direction. I thought sure that maybe he had seen me, but with those dark goggles, I would never know. He turned his attention back to the crowd.

The man's mouth worked around for a bit as if he was looking for something to say. Then: "Good morning, starshine! The Earth says, hello!" I snorted gaily and covered my mouth and bit my tongue to keep from laughing hard.

"Who're you?" said a little girl with short-cropped blond hair, who I remembered to be Violet. The woman next to her in the matching outfit must've been her mother.

"He's Willy Wonka!" Grandpa Joe said excitedly. Charlie uttered a soft, "Really", as if he didn't really believe it was Mr. Wonka. Neither could I.

"Then shouldn't you be up there?" said a little girl with a British accent. She had curly brown hair that most girls would kill for, and was pointing towards the throne that was currently engulfed in flames. I had to wonder if there was a brain in her head, and even from far away I heard a soft plopping noise as a melting doll's eye fell out.

Willy Wonka screwed his face up into the most serious manner I had ever seen, and said softly, "Well, I couldn't very well watch the show from up there now could I little girl?" Silence followed, and Willy Wonka turned and bustled in past his burning display. All the others followed, including me, although I almost didn't make it inside for lack of time. I slipped in just as the door shut softly with a snap behind me.

I had made it.

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A/N: Well, here we go. Alisha's successfully infiltrated the factory. Yay. Er, so now that the second chapter's up, I'll be most likely working on the fourth chapter of Whisper of Evil this evening, since it's the weekend. So stay tuned and be steadfast! I shall not disappoint you, dear reader. Goodbye, Au revior, Auf Wiedersehen, and GOOD RIDDANCE! (Just kidding. Hehe.)

Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.


	3. A Discovery

Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.

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I kept a very close eye on the crowd as I scurried soundlessly towards the door at the end of the hall. I didn't know for sure if it was a door they were going to go through, but a person could assume, couldn't she? (And here my dad would break in to pompously state: 'Never assume, Lisha darling.') I tilted my head softly to the side and stared at the door, now having a closer view of it. It was so small!

Their voices alerted me to the fact that they were approaching. I whirled around, saw that they were fast approaching, and slid into the shadows. I watched as Violet (assuming that this was Violet. Assumptions assumptions!) hugged Mr. Wonka suddenly. I watched as he cringed away.

"I'm Violet Beauregarde," she said in a sickly sweet voice, her gum snapping and popping in her mouth as she chewed it.

"I don't care," he said softly in what seemed near terror; then he began to march on.

"Well, you should be," she said pompously, keeping steady rhythm with the tall man. "Because I'm going to be the girl who's gonna win that special prize in the end."

"You do seem confident, and confidence is key," he said, that same expression kept upon his face. He quickened his pace abit, trying to keep ahead of the kids and their parents.

Veruca Salt jumped in front of Mr. Wonka, who leapt back with such surprise that I was surprised he managed to keep upright. "I'm Veruca Salt," she announced with grandness only found in rich spoilt kids; she smiled brightly.

Willy Wonka blinked and then grinned. "I always thought a veruca was a wart that grew on the bottom of your foot," he said, and before Veruca had time to answer Augustus Gloop barged in on the conversation.

"I'm Augustus Gloop. I luff your chocolat." His voice was thick, as Germans so often were. Willy Wonka stared at him and then grinned even wider than he had before.

"I can see that! So do I. I never expected to have so much in common." His voice dripped with fake enthusiasm and sarcasm, but judging by the looks on everybody's faces nobody caught it. Mr. Wonka was about to continue when he paused, the strangest expression on his face; he turned, and looked directly at Mike Teavee. "You. You're Mike Teavee." I had to control myself from giggling at this point, because he made obvious the obvious. "You're the little devil who cracked the system." He turned from the sour-faced Teavee and grinned in Charlie and Grandpa Joe's direction. "And you. Well, you're just lucky to be here, aren'tcha?"

Wonka turned and they all followed him towards the front. Just like sheep. I giggled into my hand as a picture enveloped my mind unwelcomingly; everybody as sheep and Willy Wonka dressed up in a Shepherd's getup. I dissolved into soundless giggles at this; I had barely even seen Willy Wonka and here I was imagining him in bibbed overalls and a straw hat, clutching a crook.

I had to bite my tongue to stop my giggling and sat up straight. They were all gathered around the little door.

"Why's the door so small?" Teavee snapped, apparently directed at Mr. Wonka. His face was still sour. If looks could kill, Mr. Wonka could have dropped dead, which was a very frightening thought.

Willy Wonka ignored his expression and tone of voice and replied cheerfully and with that ever-present grin: "Why, it's to keep all that chocolatey goodness inside!" He reached down and jammed a key into the little lock, then shoved the doors open, and it turned out that the whole wall was a set of double doors.

When everyone had slipped through it I slipped through it myself, keeping to the shadows and darting ahead further from the tour and strange tour-guide. I finally sat down some distance away under a mushroom that looked suspiciously like fudge. I scraped a tiny bit away from it and licked it, to find it _was_ fudge. What startled me was the fact that I found this completely unsurprising.

Seeing as how I was some distance away and it was so warm in here as apposed to outside where it was frigid, I thought maybe I could quick rest mine eyes. After all, it wasn't as if I was really going to get caught. I was quite a distance away, and I felt slightly tired.

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The next thing I knew was that I was staring into a pair of vividly purple eyes, attached to a head with a section of a funny cut crop of chocolate colored hair and a black top hat with waffle-cone-style trim.

I yelped all too loudly and backpedaled with my sneakers and hands, forcing myself up against the Fudge Mushroom and scrunching my upper torso near-flat against its enormous umbrella top's underside. My cheeks felt hot and flushed and my breathing came in short, rapid gasps, as if I'd just run a mile. I was under there for several moments before the same head appeared below me, upside down and staring at me with those freaky purple eyes.

"Greetings, child of Earth! Err… you _are_ a child of Earth, yes?" He stared at me, then gave a little gasp that I could hardly believe to come out of a man. "Or maybe… maybe you're an alien! Come to send me a message!" He straightened his top hat, and clutched the cane in his hands a little tighter. "Oh dear dear dear. Hm. Is your name Scarlet? Because you sure are scarlet." He blinked.

"N-n-n-n…"

"Oh come now! Out with it!" He rapped his cane hard on the ground made of either chocolate or more fudge. It gave an unpleasant squish and his cane stuck there. He pulled it out with a _squuuuuelch_ing noise and frowned at the end of it, which was dripping goo.

"N-n-n-nosir," I said fast, stammering, my words blending together. My heart pounded like a bongo drum. "M-m-my n-n-name is Alisha."

His brilliantly purple eyes twinkled merrily. "I always thought that Alisha was something they used to walk dogs in Italy!"

I stared at him. So this was Willy Wonka. I found the thoughts that trailed through my head went something like this:_ He's really handsome. Oh stop that! What, he is. And you know it. Oh, I do not. Look at him! He's… he's… Come now. Say it. He's handsome._

My left eye twitched noticeably, and I slowly relaxed my body. He didn't seem like he was going to punish me, so I stopped worrying. Some. He grinned wide and beckoned me forward.

"C'mon now. C'mon. You can do it. C'mon!" He said all this very softly, as if cooing to a baby who was taking her first steps. My mind seemed to whirr at this. He seemed all so very sane when I first saw him, and now… well… he didn't seem so much so. "Oh, confusticate it! Come on! We have so much time and so little to do!"

I lifted a finger and opened my mouth to say something about that when he grinned sheepishly. "Take it, switch it," he declared, then twirled primly and set off in the direction of the others, his coat billowing merrily behind its master.

I scurried after him with much regret. I'd been found, unfortunately. I stayed steadfastly behind Mr. Wonka as he stopped and I almost crashed into him. He paid no more attention to me than if I were just another piece of the grass beneath our feet.

I received many stares, and Ms. Salt pointed and whispered to her daddy about me. I cleared my throat, causing Mr. Wonka and everybody else to jump. I stared pointedly at Veruca and ignored the weird stares I was receiving from Mr. Wonka, and said, in the most serious tone I could muster: "I'll beg you kindly not to whisper behind Mr. Wonka's back. It's very rude."

Charlie seemed to have been the only one to get it, for he began giggling helplessly at my remark. Willy simply stared at me like I was demented and then gave a silly little giggle that, if I had paid more attention to it, would've found it exactly like my own. He mumbled an "Okay then… moving on…?" and without any further ado marched off across the bridge over the chocolate waterfall.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face the tour. "The waterfall is most important," he said, swaying forward slightly, as if to let the people get a better look at his handsome face. Yes, I say it. Handsome. "It churns up the chocolate. Makes it light, and frothy." He made an absurd churning motion with his hands and I giggled. He glared at me out of the corner of his eye and continued. "By the way, children: No other factory in the _World_ mixes its chocolate by waterfall. And you can take that to the bank!"

He stood aside while everybody passed him, and as they continued on without him, he cleared his throat and said, "People!" rather loudly. I, of course, was still stuck to his back. Which I don't think he took very kindly, because he looked down at me and cleared his throat harder at this.

I gave a squeak and scurried out from behind him. He pointed behind him, then turned his gaze to see like he was one of the spectators himself. His purple-latex-gloved finger was pointing at a large piece of silver machinery that was suspended in the air, with a large attachment of clear-and-silver pipeline leading out of it. "That pipe," he said, "sucks up the chocolate. And carries it away. All over the factory." He waved his hand to further assist his explanation, and he talked as if he were carefully lecturing a small child that 2+2 always equals 4.

The tour proceeded on, and finally Willy Wonka stopped them all again. "Please have a blade of my grass, please do," he said, grinning again, "it's so delectable and so darn good-looking!"

I giggled rather loudly, and found myself thinking about the fact that I had giggled more today than I had the entire month. "You can eat the grass?" Charlie asked in a hushed tone, everyone ignoring my stupid giggling fit.

"Why of course you can! Everything in this room is eatable, even _I'm_ eatable," he said, and I wondered how he could keep such a straight face because I was giggling so badly. "But that is called _cannibalism_, my dear children, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies." He said this with such solemness that I couldn't help but giggle harder.

Finding myself thinking about an absurd and second-meaning sentence of what he said and shut myself up immediately, a light blush creeping into my cheeks. Good thing no-one really noticed.

"Are you hot or something?" Teavee asked me sourly, noting my face was slightly red.

I stared at him, then grinned slightly. "Did you know your face looks like you just swallowed an _entire_ lemon?" I asked cheerfully, bouncing once or twice on the balls of my feet. "'Cause your face is really sour!" I giggled helplessly at my stupid joke and he rolled his eyes.

"Shows what I get for talking to a girl."

"Shows what I get for talking to a thing!" I replied, my voice dripping with a sour enthusiasm. My grin widened as much I possibly could force it before splitting my whole head in half.

"Augustus, my child, that is not a good thing to do!"

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A/N: Here you go. Haha. I had fun playing out Wonka's eccentricities. I spent my time well into the night last night thinking up this scene, and, well, I enjoyed it. Hm. I know there are a lot of fanfictions out there like this one, but I'd have to say that I thought mine up well enough. I hope all of you will take the time to review, which you haven't recently, but I won't let that get my hopes shattered. Bleh.

Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.


	4. Chocolate Coated Accident

Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.

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Willy Wonka dismissed the band of tourists (as I saw fit to call them) and they all went scampering off with glee. He cocked his head in my direction. He didn't have to look very far down to meet my eyes, for my eyes came just up to his nose. He made a gentle little shooing motion with his hands and I cautiously crept around the place, watching the ground for any holes or soft spots where I might sink, and just being generally my cautious self.

"Daddy! Look! Up there! What _is_ it? It's a little person!" Veruca Salt pointed and, naturally, she had to be the center of attention.

Ms. Beauregarde came up behind Veruca as did the little girl's father. "There's two of them!" she said, pointing to another one not far away from the first.

"There's more than two," Mr. Teavee said, as everybody else rushed up.

"Are they real people?" I asked wonderingly, coming up behind everybody and, once again, startling them. Mike glared at me, and I supposed that was what he was going to ask.

"Of _course_ they're real people, they're Oompa-Loompas!" Mr. Wonka gaily replied, smiling. "Imported direct from Loompa-Land."

"There's no such place," Mr. Teavee interrupted, his face pinned in a bored expression.

"'Scuse me?" Mr. Wonka said softly, looking at Mr. Teavee out of the corner of his eye.

"Mr. Wonka, I teach high-school Geography and I'm here to tell you –"

"Then you'll know all about it and oh, what a terrible country it is." I giggled, and once again no one took notice. Mr. Wonka's face was smug and he looked at Mr. Teavee sideways as if to say, "I dare you to say one more word concerning the subject of Loompa-Land not existing."

I stood there and listened to him recount his exploration of Loompa-Land, my imagination whirring and clicking like gears as I began to imagine myself in such a predicament as that. A smile spread over my face as I imagined the wonderful place that could seem only to be in a dream-land. As soon as he finished everything hushed, and I realized they were staring at… well, me. I realized my head was tilted to the side and an ear-to-ear grin was on my face.

I blinked rapidly and tried to fix my face. My face must've looked pretty funny, for it _felt_ funny. It felt like I was trying to be a sourpuss like Mike Teavee and still have that dreamy expression. Everybody started laughing except for Grandpa Joe and Mr. Wonka, who looked at me almost knowingly.

Everybody stayed where they were, but I went scampering off to inspect some more of the wonderful fantasy land of the Chocolate Waterfall room.

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"Augustus, my child, that is not a good thing you do!"

My head popped up from behind a fudge mushroom I had been inspecting. Laughter from nearby told me Charlie had witnessed my 'popping up'. I smiled in his general direction, when Mr. Wonka's voice caused my head to snap around.

"Little boy! My chocolate must be untouched by humans hands…" His voice trailed off with this last word, telling me that his orders hadn't exactly been obeyed. I scrambled over the fudge mushroom and went sprinting down towards the spot where the action was, tumbling right into Augustus Gloop, who was stuffing his face with chocolate from the chocolate river. He fell in with an almighty splash, and I was splattered with chocolate.

I cringed backwards at the last second, avoiding falling in myself, squeezing my eyes shut and waiting for the inevitable; for someone to push _me_ in. When nothing came except a strange choking noise, presumably feminine, and the sound of Augustus Gloop splashing around in the thick chocolate, I cracked open one eye. No one appeared to be paying attention to me except for Mr. Wonka, who was staring at me quite peculiarly.

Mrs. Gloop was in hysterics. "He can't swim, somebody save him!"

"Help. Please. Murder." The words popped out of my mouth before I could stop them; and then that horrendous giggle slid out of my throat like something disgusting and slimy. Mr. Wonka's expression deepened at my giggle but he said nothing.

"Help him!" Mrs. Gloop shrieked, her hands clutching at her chubby cheeks, her carrot-colored hair coming out of it's… whatever it was she had in it. A bun or something. "Augustus!"

I watched in near fascination, sitting Indian-style on the ground, as a pipe lowered down to the chocolate and began to suck it up. A whirlpool began to form in the middle of the river, and before anybody knew what was happening Augustus Gloop was sucked up the pipe. He appeared, gasping for breath, clogged up in the pipe just above the river.

Everyone watched, transfixed, as Augustus Gloop went shooting further up the pipe.

"It's a wonder that pipe's big enough," Ms. Beauregarde said speculatingly, staring upwards as Augustus shot up the pipe.

"It's not big enough. He's slowing down!" Charlie cried.

"He's gonna stick," Mike commented.

"He stuck!" I replied, a little too gleefully, I think, for everybody's eyes turned to me questioningly and then turned back to the problem at hand.

"Call the fire brigade!" Mrs. Gloop practically screamed, clutching at Willy Wonka's coat. He cringed and pulled back abit.

"Lady, do you realize how long it would take to bring the fire brigade in here?" I demanded crossly, and Mr. Wonka gave a startled little gasp.

"That's what I was going to say!" he said hurtfully, pouting at me. The soft strains of music reached my ears and I turned my head slowly in that direction.

"What's going on?" I asked in a hushed voice, my head inclining towards Mr. Wonka. He smiled in the general direction of some Oompa-Loompas nearby.

"Why, I believe they're going to sing us a little song," he replied coolly, "it is quite a special occasion, of course… they haven't had a fresh audience in many-a moon."

I watched, awed and horrified, blah-ed and glorified (just kidding), as the Oompa-Loompas all spontaneously burst into song. As they sang about Augustus Gloop (something about him being a great big greedy nincompoop), Mr. Wonka bopped his head back and forth joyfully, really getting into the song. I thought it was sortof a catchy tune.

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When the song had ended and all the Oompa-Loompas went back to their tasks, Mrs. Gloop clutched even more to Mr. Wonka's coat, reminding me horribly of some goblin clutching at your clothes and trying to drag you down into the earth.

"Where is my son, where does that pipe go to?" she cried, hysterically throwing glances from the pipe-line to Mr. Wonka.

"You'll never get to him in time," I said brightly. "He'll be made into marshmallow fudge in a matter of moments."

"Don't be silly, girl! That's preposterous!"

"Why?" I asked, startled at Mr. Wonka's sudden retaliation.

"Because _that_ pipe just happens to lead to the room where I make the most delicious kind of _strawberry-_flavored chocolate-coated fudge!" he replied cheerfully, twisting his cane around in his hand and grinning dazzlingly.

"Then he will be made into strawberry-flavored, chocolate-coated fudge? They will be selling him by the pound, all over the world?" Mrs. Gloop fretted, her face drawn taught with worry.

Mr. Wonka's face worked around and then he smiled. "No. I wouldn't allow it." Mrs. Gloop's face relaxed, and then he said: "The taste would be terrible." She stared at him like he was insane. "Can you imagine Augustus-Flavored Chocolate-Coated Gloop? Ew! No one would buy it," he said solemnly, and her face immediately soured up a bit.

Willy Wonka turned and made a strange ululation by fluttering his tongue rapidly. An Oompa-Loompa came hurrying over and stood in front of him a small ways away. "I want you to take Mrs. Gloop up to the fudge room, 'kay? Help her find her son." The Oompa-Loompa nodded and then Mr. Wonka added, "Take a big stick," he poked his cane in the air to indicate a big stick, "and _poke _around in the big chocolate mixing vat." The Oompa-Loompa clapped his hands cross-ways over his chest and then bowed. Mr. Wonka did the same, then turned and grinned at everyone as Mrs. Gloop was led away, one of the tiny men leading her by pulling on her skirt.

We were all standing around the edge of the river, most of us nervous, wondering what was going to happen next, when a sort of chant reached my ears.

"_Hmmm-ah! Hmmm-ah!_" My head turned in the direction of the chanting, and from out of the darkness of a tunnel came a-floating a Pink Raspberry Sugarboat in the shape of a seahorse.

"How fitting," I murmured to myself, throwing glances at Mr. Wonka and everybody else. Everyone except Mr. Wonka seemed petrified. The boat stopped in front of us with little to no sign that they _were_ stopping. All at once all of the Oompa-Loompas began giggling madly.

"Whazzo funny?" I demanded, looking around us. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Maybe they were giggling at me.

Mr. Wonka leaned down to the other kid's eye levels. When he did that he went past _my_ eye level. "Y'know, I think it's from all those gosh-darned cocoa-beans!" he said brightly, as the Oompa-Loompas continued to giggle slightly.

"Y'know, the cocoa-bean triggers the release of endorphins, gives one the feeling of being in love," he noted, grinning still. I looked up at him, my eyes shimmering with admiration.

"You don't say…" Ms. Beauregarde said slyly, giving Mr. Wonka a foxy look. I glared at her. Evil lady!

"Yes, he does say," I snapped, and she stared at me. I blinked. Why did I say that? I had absolutely no reason to say that. It didn't even make sense.

"All aboard!" Mr. Wonka said, the big grin on his face nervous and fake. As soon as Ms. Beauregarde passed him he dropped the grin to swap it with one of utter freaked-out-ness. I couldn't blame him.

I sat down in a small spot next to the edge of the boat, the spot to my left unoccupied, thank the Lord. I didn't need to be sitting next to anybody, seeing as how they still all regarded me as though I were toxic. Mr. Wonka, Charlie, and Grandpa Joe were behind me, while Ms. Beauregarde and Violet were in front. I almost had to think that Mr. Wonka was glad that I was between him and Ms. Beauregarde, for as soon as I sat down behind her he gave a soft little sigh of what sounded like relief.

"Onward!"

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A/N: -Rolls around in a little ball, singing.- Oh dear, I fear, that I'm haaaaaving too much fuuuuun! -Stops and blinks.- Oh. Eh-heh-heh… sorry. –Unfurls and stands tall.- Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker! Haha! No, I'm not drunk. I just thought I'd say that. 'Cause liquor will affect you quicker than candy will. 'Specially if the candy is made out of liquor. –Deep, meaningful sigh.- I've barely really _started_ this fanfiction and already my mind is buzzing with others! I swear, my mind is so annoying sometimes.

Thank you, thank you, all my reviewers, who aren't many! I appreciate your taking the time to review and making me a happy author.

Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.


	5. Boat Ride

Disclaimer: The Author of this fanfiction is not using this story to gain money in any way, shape, or form, nor does the Author claim ownership of the fictitious characters created by Roald Dahl, used most recently in the 2005 Tim Burton film Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Summary: A stupid little impulse story the Author simply had to give her mind time to write, for otherwise it would continue to plague her brain until she did. The Author has written a story about what would happen if a girl with her own frame of mind happened to 'gain access' to the amazing Chocolate Factory of Willy Wonka.

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"Onward!" Mr. Wonka shouted ahead to the Oompa-Loompas, who began rowing at a nice, steady pace. I turned slightly and looked at him, but when I found that he was looking at me I snapped my head forward to stare silently ahead. I shivered, for some reason. I felt as if some impending danger was about to take place.

The Chocolate River sloshed heavily beneath the boat and oars, as the Oompa-Loompas rowed towards a dark, ominous tunnel ahead.

"How can they see where they're going?" Violet Beauregarde sneered, turning back to Mr. Wonka, a frown heavily imposed upon her pale features, her short blond hair boxing in her face and making her look like another of those female Harpies that plague life as it should so nicely be.

"They can't," Mr. Wonka replied with an unfathomable face, and I stared at him with wide eyes. He ignored me. As usual. "There's no telling _where_ they're going. Turn on the lights!" he called ahead. Lights on the front of the sugarboat clicked on and suddenly the tunnel was illuminated, revealing pillars of curvy sorts keeping the ceiling up. The chocolate rushed through the tunnel with a roaring, splashing sound that filled the tunnel and our ears.

"Can you remember the first piece of candy you ever ate?" inquired Charlie of Mr. Wonka, who tilted his head to the side. A glazed look filled his violet eyes, and his mouth frowned. "No…" he said softly, and suddenly he seemed lost. Like a little boy, who is experiencing his first… well… chocolate.

The chocolate rapids carried us faster throughout the tunnel, and was it my imagination, or did the Oompa-Loompas speed up their rowing? I swayed back and forth, and as the boat took a spectacularly sharp turn I lurched dangerously out of the chocolate river, lost my balance, and fell right over the side!

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I felt a hand on the back of my shirt that pulled me up, my nose coming almost within touching range of the sweet chocolate. It plopped me hard back into my spot, then slapped me boldly on the back. I went into a coughing, choking fit. "Serves you right," said a voice from behind me, and then the voice giggled.

I turned around to shoot a glare at Mr. Wonka, who simply gave me a shrug. "Serves me right for _what_?" I demanded. "The boat turned too hard!"

He stared at me with a puzzled expression and tipped his head to the left, the scrabbled to grab his hat before it fell over into the chocolate. "Hmm? I didn't say anything, ma'am!" he cried jovially, grinning and showing off those perfect white teeth. I nearly swooned.

I sighed and shrugged. "If you say so, sir," I replied in the same tone, but not quite as loudly. I lurched forward into Ms. Beauregarde as the boat slowed instantaneously, and she turned and shot a hot glare at me.

"Watch it!" she shrieked at me, all too loudly.

"People! Pay _attention_!" Mr. Wonka cried, nearly bouncing up and down on his seat behind us. "We're passing some very important rooms!" I turned in silence and stared upward at the bright neon words proclaiming the rooms. 'Coffee Cream', 'Clotted Cream'…

"Hair cream?" I asked, amused, and turned in my seat to look at Mr. Wonka. He grinned.

"What do you use hair cream for?" Ms. Beauregarde speculated, blinking in a bewildered way that made me giggle. Under my breath, of course. For it never does to giggle in front of the people and make the people not… friendly… anymore. Which… they never were anyway. But still, I was courteous and giggled only under my breath.

"To lock in moisture," Mr. Wonka said softly, playing with his slightly curled hair. I snickered, being ignored some more.

As we passed another room, the sound of whips cracking and a cow mooing sadly reached my ears. "Whipped cream!" Charlie exclaimed excitedly behind me, his voice full of wonder.

"Of course!"

"That doesn't make any sense," Veruca snapped, glaring at Mr. Wonka.

Mr. Wonka glared right back. "Whipped cream isn't whipped cream unless it's been whipped with whips. Everybody knows that," he replied.

"I knew that," I said, smiling gaily at him. He blinked and stared at me.

"No you didn't," Mike said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms over his skull t-shirt. He was smiling sourly.

"Oh yes I did," I replied, grinning forcibly. "But I bet you didn't. That's why you were so quick to jump on me!" My grin was wicked, and I narrowed my eyes. "You're all really quite short." Which was true, to me. I was almost Mr. Wonka's height.

"Yeah, because we're children," Violet snapped.

"That's no excuse," Mr. Wonka said, sticking up for me. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, surprised. He winked at me.

"I'm a child too," I said, grinning from ear to ear; my gums hurt.

"I was never as short as you," Mr. Wonka said, grinning a grin to match mine.

"You were _once_," Teavee shot.

"Was not. Know why? Know _why_? Because I distinctly remember putting a hat on top of my head. Look at your short little arms." He observed them for a few seconds. "You could never reach."

I snickered. "Truer words were ne'er spoken, Mr. Wonka. Sir," I added, as an afterthought.

"Posh!" he exclaimed suddenly. "No need to be so formal, kiddo! We're not at a ball that serves caviar or naught." He looked around suddenly. "STOP THE BOAT!" he roared, startling me so bad that I nearly fell almost fell into the Chocolate River, for the second time today, which was turning out to be very eventful indeed.

We all scrambled out after Mr. Wonka, who had leapt from the boat and hurried off at an alarming pace. I stumbled on the edge of the platform, fell flat on my face, and ended up crawling to the doorframe where I hoisted myself up, panting from effort and feeling very bruised. I was nearly knocked over again as Veruca Salt hit me in the shoulder with hers', grinning wickedly with contempt. Violet Beauregarde followed suit, and Mike Teavee's shot ripped my fingers from the door and sent me tumbling to be stepped on by the same procession of short little midgets.

I lay there, and sighed. Why do I get treated like this? It's not as if I did this to them, although that thought wasn't far from my mind.

I was suddenly and horribly aware of three faces staring down at me; an elderly gentleman, a kind young boy, and a certain eccentric candymaker with vividly purple eyes. I blinked my own blue-ish-green-ish ones up at them. They were all frowning in concern. I mumbled something. They looked at each other, then two pairs of hands grabbed hold of my arms and yanked me up off the ground.

"Ignore them," Charlie whispered to me. I had the serious urge to tell him that I couldn't be nice to such – enter unpleasant foul words here – people, but I ground my teeth together and kept my mouth shut. I pretended I had lockjaw. It worked. Mostly. I still grumbled a large string of curse and foul words under my breath that nobody heard.

Whizzes, pops, bangs, and shrieks greeted me as we entered the Inventing Room, and I was overwhelmed suddenly. The magnitude of the room we had just entered caused the breath in my throat to die. I choked on my breathless situation for a minute, then finally found my breath and sucked it in deep.

"It's amazing…" I whispered, an enormous grin spreading itself over my face in wonder. "Truly amazing!" I was paralyzed with joy, and stood stock still, barely daring more than to breathe, for it could immediately shatter this wonderful fantasy as it would be. I bit my lip until I tasted the awful copper taste of blood, and wiped my lip on my arm, leaving a long streak of the dark red fluid that ran through my veins.

"Go on!" cried Mr. Wonka from behind me, causing me to jump. I turned and stared at him, and he grinned. He'd gotten payback. "Go explore. Just don't… touch anything." The others scurried off like mice going to find food, and I tilted my head interestedly at Mr. Wonka. He copied my action, staring intently into my eyes.

Did I see anything in those eyes? Yes, in fact, I did. I saw the genius behind the eccentricities. I saw the loving person behind the shy and withdrawn outside features. I saw… Willy Wonka. And I liked it. He smiled genuinely at me, and I warmed, then walked slowly off to check out some things.

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"Hey Mr. Wonka, what's this?" sneered a certain blonde-haired gum-chewer, peering intensely into the porthole of an enormous tank filled with water. The machinery above it shot large, brightly colored candy balls into it with loud, successive pops. Everyone crowded around Violet for a better look.

"Oh! Let me show you." He jauntily sprinted over to where we were, and positioned himself in front of us. He turned somewhat and leaned down a hand over the side of the tank, where a swimming Oompa-Loompa handed a bright red ball to Mr. Wonka. "Everlasting Gobstoppers!" he announced, holding the jawbreaker up for us to see. "You can suck on it all year long and it won't get any smaller!"

"Then it's like gum," Violet murmured, speculating.

"No. It's not like gum." He sounded defiant when he said this. I grinned. "'Cause if you tried to chew one of these gobstoppers, you'd break all your little teeth off. Sure taste great, though." He peered at the gobstopper and then walked off to another section.

I hid a snicker as I imaged Violet Beauregarde breaking all her teeth off.

"Hair toffees!" he said, when everyone had gathered around him. "You suck down one of these little boogers, and in exactly half an hour a brand new crop of hair will grow out all over your little noggin! And a _mustache_! And a _beard_!"

"Who would want a beard?' Mike scoffed. He still had his arms folded over his chest, and his face looked like it would suck into his head.

"Well… beatniks, for one. Folk singers and motorbike riders. All those hip, neat, keen, and groovy cats. It's in the fridge, Daddio. Are you hep to the jive, can you dig what I'm layin' down, I knew that you could, slip me some skiiiiin, soul brother!" He held out his gloved hand towards Mike, who glared at it, then glared up at Mr. Wonka. Mr. Wonka retracted his hand and frowned. "Anyway, the mixture's not quite ready yet, 'cause an Oompa-Loompa tried one yesterday, and, he, well…" He looked to his left, and in came walking an Oompa-Loompa, covered from head to toe in chocolate-colored curly hair. "How are you today?" Willy asked slowly, loudly, and the little man gave him two thumbs up. "Well, good."

Everybody had been very wide-eyed up until now, and when Mr. Wonka walked off everybody calmed a bit.

"Come over here, there's something I want to show you."

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A/N: Sorry for song long a delay, I've been really busy with a story that I'm going to keep locked up until I've finished it – sorry, fans. I've updated my profile some more, by the way, so it'll give you all a better idea of what I'm like.

As far as the story goes, this one didn't do all that much from between Augustus Gloop's and Violet Beauregarde's accident, which is in the next chapter, but I thought it'd add some light-hearted humor whereas most of this is kind of dramatic, the kids getting into accidents and all, but I'm not telling you whether the ending is dramatic or not… it'll spoil the ending. –Wink wink.- You'll just have to stick with it and see.

Daemonfaeriequeen: Thanks, yeah… she IS turning into a little Miss Wonka. Weird, isn't it?

Reviewers: As I've always said, I'm open to praise and flames. Just don't banish me to the Eternal Stove. Argh. But also as I've always said, flames just force me to build a barrier, build my character, and hone my writing skills. So there. –Wink.- And I can rhyme, too.


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